Voices from the Korean War - Douglas Rice [106]
Several patrols were sent down into the valley, and one from Able Company ran into some mines—wounding their medic and several others. The wounded were evacuated by small, two-litter helicopters.
There was one day on the rim of the Punchbowl that was better than any other day—the day I was told I was going home. I traded my well maintained rifle to another squad member for his rusty one: I gave away my blanket: I gave away two cans of pork-and-beans that I had hoarded. Then after the hand shakes, and “have a good trip home” from the guys, down the hill I went—to start processing for my journey home.
When I arrived I was informed that ten days earlier I had been promoted to Sergeant First Class and that I wouldn’t be able to leave until the river receded. The level of the river had raised from the monsoon rains, to the point that a two-and-a-half ton truck wasn’t able to cross. So, back up the hill I went and I was able to get my rifle and blanket back. However, the beans were already gone. For the next three nights I wasn’t able to get much sleep. Finally, word came for three of us to come down, and go home.
Those of us going home gathered in the company area where we traded in our steel helmets for the “badge” of rotation—a fatigue cap. We loaded onto the truck, and as it began to lurch down the road I glanced up the hill realizing I would never see those guys again. These were men that I had lived with through hardships and danger. That brought sadness to the joy of my going home. Many of them never returned home, because during the months of September and October they would be killed at a place called Heartbreak Hill.
We arrived at the division’s rotation center which had tents with canvas cots and hot chow. We stayed there until they had a large enough group for a train, which was about three or four days.
They took us to the train station for our overnight trip to the Pusan rotation center. The cars were equipped with bunks—sort of. They were wooden shelves, four high, on each side of the car. They were just shelves! No mattresses; no blanket; no pillow. However, the most important thing was no one was shooting at us.
Arriving in Pusan, we turned in our rifles, ammunition, and all other field equipment. Needless to say, I was embarrassed to turn in that rusty, clunker of a rifle that I had traded for. After staying there a day, we took a ferry to Sasebo Navy Base in Japan. Here we were told our ship would be ready in two or three days. However, it was day seven and we were still there. Even though we had no passes, some of us decided to sneak off base—after dark—and see the town. We had walked over a footbridge at the rear of the base, when we encountered a barbed wire barrier, which was no match for ex-combat soldiers. Slipping through the wire, we hadn’t much more than hit the dirt on the other side when we were surrounded, and captured, by M.P.’s. They took us back to the centers commander for proper punishment—latrine duty. Luckily, we only had to do this for one day because our ship was ready the next day.
With a one-day layover because of water in the Aleutians, our voyage to Washington took fifteen days. On the 22nd of August 1951, we arrived at the Port of Seattle. As we moved toward the dock, several harbor fireboat’s were pumping streams of water high in the air and one of the boats was blaring Frankie Lanes “Mule Train” over its load speaker.
As we disembarked, there was a young lady waiting at the bottom of the gangplank. She said, “Welcome home, soldier,” to each